Shadow of Contrition
by pippermint
Summary: Post CoS. When a kidnapping takes place at the border of Amestris and Drachma, the military gets involved. But every action has a reaction; the lives of Mustang, Hawkeye, and several others are about to change more than could be imagined. :DISCONTINUED:
1. Before My Helpless Sight

**A/N: **This is my second try at writing Shadow of Contrition, and I hope it will be much improved. Some chapter titles and inspiration come from the poem "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I make no money by writing this. I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

**Prologue -- Before My Helpless Sight**

Her rejection from the job at the automail shop on the corner was a bitter one, and the cold blast of air that hit her face on the way out did not help matters. Her ears were bare, too, and the tendrils of hair that swayed to hit them felt like icicles. Winry pulled her jacket close to her, and wished for the relative warmth of Risembool.

She hated this place, really. It was the northernmost major city in the country, and for a girl accustomed to showing her arms and shoulders half the year, it was even colder by comparison. If it had been a good day, and not a day where the sky teased its subjects with snow that would not fall, she could have seen the mountains from where she stood. If it had been an exceptionally clear day, like the one she'd witnessed about a fortnight ago, she could have seen the treacherous train tracks that cut through those mountains towards Drachma.

Or, depending on how she saw it, the train tracks that led down the mountains, towards this city. And then, further south. Towards home.

She sobbed out loud, and let herself slide down the wall of the automail shop. _Home_. What a word, indeed. The tears, which always seemed to find a way, stung her cheeks as the wind picked up. She took off one glove to wipe her face, noticing as she did that one of the fingers had a small hole in it.

She'd come north to Cohigis not because of any desire to be here, but because the train going north had been arriving an hour and a half earlier than the southbound one. She'd ended up here, the last stop on the regular line, not because she had any particular draw to this city, but because she'd slept past the city where Sheska's parents lived. They were kind people, if Sheska herself was any indication. Winry's friend had invited her to spend the winter holidays with them. She could have caught either the northbound or the southbound train to start with -- there was a second train to catch; it was a small town -- but now she could catch no trains.

On her first night here, the hope of catching two more trains to a homecooked meal and company had faded fast. With the money spend to stay the night here, she couldn't afford the train tickets. Finding work as a waitress seemed a lucky break at first, until she realized the daily wage was about the same as the cost of living there, if that. She still couldn't catch another two trains. She was stuck.

She'd told Sheksa as much in a letter, and the young woman had written back to say that she'd wire Winry enough money to get out. It hadn't gotten there yet, and the holidays were over. Sheska was back at Central, and if Winry ever got the money -- when she got the money, Winry told herself -- the only place she could go was back to Risembool.

It was all enough to make Winry nauseated if she thought about it for too long. And yet she had no desire to simply go home; in her opinion, that house was no longer a home.

* * *

Riza tapped her foot, relinquishing the hold on her impatience just a little. Sheska wasn't _that_ late, after all. She glanced at her watch again, and proceeded to have another sip of her already cool coffee.

They had made plans yesterday to have lunch today, Saturday, instead of the previously established Friday night dinner. Sheska had had other obligations, as she had said with a slight blush. Riza had wanted to protest, but she didn't know the girl well enough to do so. She had wanted to pry, which was quite unlike her, but she didn't know Sheska well enough to do that either. So Riza had smiled, and nodded that yes, that was fine with her.

Roy had asked if she wanted to have dinner with him instead, at a place they had frequented in the last few months. She had accepted with a smile that might have said more than she wanted it to. But he gave no inclination that it did, and the evening had proceeded like they always did: enjoyable on a few levels that Riza was comfortable with, and a few that she would prefer to ignore.

On these evenings, they would talk with fewer inhibitions than any other times, about almost anything. Over wine and decent fare, they discussed politics, literature, and memories both happy and troubling. It was on these occasions that she saw Roy smile with something other than a smirk, and laugh in a way she'd forgotten he was capable of. She brought a hand to her face, and recalled the smile that had found a way there last night. Riza had long ago accepted that they were both guarded people, but on these evenings they were at their most open. There were few subjects that were never discussed, few thoughts left unshared. It was bare in a way that was beautiful to her, but left her lying awake at night afterwards. There was nothing more sacred to her than these evenings, but that very fact bothered her.

In some ways, she missed the days when protecting Roy had been her personal duty. Simple, it had been. A straight line, though one fraught with dangers from both sides. She'd known her reasons, and how she would fight. This was a complicated dance that neither of them knew the steps to, and, at that, a dance where no toes were to be stepped on.

She had traded in her firearms and loyalty for conversation, in a sense. Helping Roy Mustang become Fuhrer had somehow turned into having champagne with him, and now Riza felt lost. What possible reasons could she give herself for doing this?

Roy didn't seem to need reasons, and she envied him that. He'd smiled -- well, smirked -- when she inquired, and given her a shrug. _Why did anyone like to sit down and talk with their friends? _He had said that, and then ordered some pasta. Something inside Riza had given a sharp twinge as she too ordered the pasta.

And now Sheska was beyond polite lateness. Riza tapped both of her feet lightly against the floor of their booth, and motioned that she wanted to order food. Her coffee was cold by now, anyway. As Riza saw the younger woman hurry through the doors of the café, an apologetic expression already set on her features, something in her chest twinged again. Why didn't she question having lunch with Sheska?

As Sheska sat down at their booth, chatting -- "Sorry, I had to go to the bank and see if…" -- Riza realized why. She wasn't going to enjoy this lunch nearly as much as she enjoyed having dinner with Roy. The possible reasons for _that_ made her passionately glad that their waitress had come back, asking what Sheska wanted to eat and drink and causing Sheska to ask Riza what kind of dressing she should get on her salad.

Riza wished that her appetite would come back, and push the unwanted thoughts away permanently.

* * *

Sheska wanted to tell Riza, she really did. It wasn't like her to put something else first that hadn't been planned for. But, then again, Sheska hadn't been herself this last couple of weeks. Or had it been a month now? She barely repressed a smile as she asked about salads.

There weren't words to explain how she was currently feeling, and that in itself said that something truly extraordinary must have happened. Books were, and always would be, a source of immense joy for her. She had found her sanctuary in pages, her savoir in ink. But this new feeling was like the best books she had ever read, all compressed and put into her heart to explode.

And yet, it was so uncertain. _Is it always like this?_ Sheska asked no one in particular. _Always like someone could rip the pages out at any moment? Like I could, if I wanted to? _But she didn't want to, and she dearly hoped that he felt the same way. She thought he did. He wasn't a very guarded person, despite the people around him.

Sheska smiled into her glass of lemonade, then studied her friend's face. Riza hadn't changed much, she thought. Barely a line on her face. She'd cut her hair again, though, and… Sheska's smile faded. The woman sitting across from her looked _sad_. Maybe she'd never noticed it before, having never been exceedingly happy herself in the past. But now she did, and she wondered if Riza had always looked so forlorn.

Sheska set down her glass, and decided that she should start watching people more.

* * *

At a later, quieter time, Winry would think back to this day and imagine a million possible ways it could have gone differently. She could have gone to look for another job that paid more than a waitress. She could have gone directly back to her hotel room, and taken a nap. She could have gotten some lunch, or counted the little money she had again, or… anything besides this.

The city of Cohigis had one bank, located at the conjunction of the two busiest streets. Standing in the very middle of the intersection, one could turn in a circle see the train station, the mountains, the nicer houses, and the closed market, all in the distance. It wasn't the geographical center of the city, but it felt like it. Winry saw more people here than she did anywhere else, and she swore she had never seen any one person twice. Though, right now, she was in such a dense mental fog from the cold and the financial complications that circus performers might have gone through without her notice.

The bank was easily the smallest and the plainest of the buildings guarding the four corners, but she felt her shoulders stiffen as she went in anyway. Winry was quickly acquiring as distaste for large cities -- or maybe it was just this one.

Checking to see if wired money had come through should have been as simple as walking up to the desk… but not today. There was a line of people, perhaps a dozen, and Winry suppressed a groan as she became number thirteen. A man came in abruptly behind her, and she turned around, surprised.

She wished she hadn't. The smell of bad cologne hit her like a physical wall, and he smiled at her to reveal another wall, this one of yellowed and gold teeth. They were almost of the same color, and Winry winced. This man gave the term 'unsavory character' a new depth. "Lost, doll?" He crooned at her.

"No," she said, adopting a flat expression. As she turned back around, his arm snaked around hers. She recoiled in disgust, or tried to. He held tight.

"You need money, is that it? I can make you offers you can't refuse." His breath smelled of mouthwash and garlicky food, the former perverted by the latter.

"_No._ Not subtle, are you?" She ground out the words between her teeth. She yanked her arm, much to her own pain. The woman standing in front of her in line turned fully around.

"_Come on, doll._" Whispering. He didn't want to make a scene, then.

"_I _am not going _anywhere_ with _you_!" She shouted in his face. The grip that had settled in around her elbow slackened, and Winry heard the curious woman say something.

"Let's come back another time, then. When the company is fairer." For a moment, Winry thought the foul _thing_ was talking to her. Then she noticed another, slightly younger man standing just behind the first, wearing an expression lodged between irritation and embarrassment.

"Leave her alone," said the woman, again. "Why can't you just leave her alone?" She took up a firm hold on Winry's other arm. The woman had a small boy, Winry noticed. _He_ had fastened himself closely to his mother's leg to watch the commotion. He was sucking on his thumb, eyes wide and fixed on hers.

The man's callous fingers were just slipping off her elbow, and she was just realizing that she was shaking with nervous rage, when things started to happen very quickly.

Someone screaming. That was the thing that would stand out most clearly for her later. Surely no one could be that upset about what had just happened with her? No, that couldn't be it, she mused through the fog that was clearing in her brain. But it could very well be the black-clad men with rifles and handguns walking towards them. Yes, Winry thought, that seemed like a distinct possibility.

The little boy, still clinging to his mother's limb, had started to cry.


	2. Information and Inquiries

**A/N:** This chapter introduces a few new characters, because conflict makes things more interesting. Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Also, if you see typos or anything else wrong, don't be afraid to tell me; criticism makes the world go round.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, and I'm not getting paid for writing this.

**Chapter One -- Information and Inquiries**

Two sheets of thick, off-white paper lay on General Ralph Kansan's desk. At the moment, there was nothing else on his desk besides a pack of cigarettes and matches. Nothing to distract him. Good. The thickset man grinned grimly, sat up in his chair, and began to reread the letter for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. In actuality, it was two letters: one was a copy of a telegraph from the police captain in the backwoods northern city of Cohigis, which had been sent to the acting Fuhrer, Hakuro, very early yesterday morning. The second sheet of paper contained a letter from Hakuro to Kansan. He supposed that a second letter, albeit a different version, had also been sent to the Amestrian parliament, because weren't they involved in everything these days? Kansan sighed before recovering his focus. In his opinion, things had been easier when the Fuhrer's word was final.

_From: Captain Bernard, Police Headquarters, Cohigis.  
To: Fuhrer Hakuro, Central Headquarters, Central City.  
January 18, 1919_

_It is my somber duty to inform you that on Saturday, January 17, an incident involving Amestrian citizens occurred in the Bank of Cohigis. Several armed men, probably working for a private organization, entered the bank, revealed their firearms, and proceeded to kidnap five or six civilians, according to eyewitnesses. The two men responsible for the bank's security were shot and killed as they tried to prevent the event. It can be inferred that these men are well trained and highly dangerous.  
__  
By the time the police force had been informed and we were in pursuit, the criminals had already made their way to the train station and boarded. There was no sign of commotion at the train station; no one else was hurt or killed._

_The train was, unfortunately, heading north into Drachma. As you know, we cannot pursue the perpetrators outside national lines. Instead, our men gathered the information that is now being presented to you, in the hopes that the military would take action._

_We do not believe this to be the actions of the Drachman government, which indicates that there is at least one rebel group among our northern neighbors. We do not believe that this was a random act of terror._

_The identities of four of the hostages have been found: Elliot Wicker, a politician; Kurt Fieldling, a businessman in the business of oil; Elizabeth Ferns, a housewife; and Leonard Ferns, Elizabeth Ferns's younger son._

_I have the utmost faith that the military will find a way to resolve this, and bring our missing family and friends home alive._

_At your service,  
Captain William Bernard_

_CLASSIFIED  
To: General Kansan  
From: Fuhrer Hakuro  
January 19, 1919_

_By the time you read this, I will have already met with Parliament, and agreed on a solution to the Drachman rebels. Your loyalty to the military over these past years has been immeasurable, and this is why I have chosen you to lead in the agreed-upon rescue mission._

_At noon today, I will require your presence at the debriefing._

_Sincerely,  
Fuhrer Hakuro_

Kansan had read through both of the letters seven times now, though the second was by far the one he enjoyed reading more. He took a deep, satisfying breath, and leaned back in his chair, slowly lacing his fingers together behind his head. _This_ was what he had been waiting for.

It had been a long time, almost fifteen years, as he remembered it. He had been, if not a young man, then a bit lighter on his feet than he was now. Another humorless smile escaped him. Time to show that he wasn't just a loyal pawn. Time to show that he was a pawn destined to become king, to serve his country with equal parts loyalty and unflinching justice.

If there was any time to have his faith in karma restored, this was it. Not only would he have the chance for pure glory; he would also, quietly, have the chance to bring justice's anvil down on those who had so wronged him all those years ago.

With the air of someone cradling a newborn baby, Kansan took the letters off his desk to regard them once more. The sun moving overhead outside was confirmed by the grandfather clock to the General's right. It was almost noon now. Time to shine.

* * *

Langston, try as he might, could not get his leg to stop jumping. His palms were beginning to sweat, too, though wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was his anxiety about what exactly was going on here. Or maybe it was because he thought everyone else in the room knew his leg was jumping. He took a deep breath.

He'd been given the copied telegraph from Cohigis, as he suspected everyone else had been. Langston surveyed the calm faces of the other six people in the room. He was the youngest person here, obviously, and the least experienced. With a shock that felt electric, he realized that he was also the only one who had never gone to war.

Though he was nervous, he couldn't help but let his optimistic nature take over. This was a chance for him to prove that, yes, this was what he was supposed to be doing, and, no, there was no mistake about that. With a shallow pang, he imagined going back home after this, the home he had left in the not-so-distant past.

His musings of reassurance were interrupted by the door, which opened to reveal Fuhrer Hakuro and General Kansan. Everyone who was sitting down got up to salute. Langston almost tripped over his own feet.

As they settled down again, Kansan joined the other seven on one side of the round table, sitting down to Langston's left without a word and completing the half circle. Hakuro moved across the room to face them all from his seat.

Langston sat up straighter, almost by instinct. As he did, his eyes traveled across the six people to his right: There were four men of varying heights and widths. The youngest, seated furthest away, looked to be only a few years Langston's senior. Then Major Hawkeye, and, finally General Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. To Langston's slight disappointment, Mustang had not been on the committee that certified state alchemists. At least, he wasn't present on the day, barely a month ago, when Langston had finally passed his exam.

As his thoughts turned back to the present situation, he noticed a gleam of dislike in Mustang's remaining eye. He cast his own eyes back to the Fuhrer, waiting for the debriefing to begin. But his curious side had been awakened.

"You all know by now why we are here," Hakuro began, "so we can pass by discussing the actions committed against us. We can move instead into what I and the members of our parliament have decided to do.

"Though we have the means for it, we have no desire to bring a war against Drachma. Our issue is with the group responsible for the kidnapping of our citizens. Our first priority is to bring the hostages home, whether by force or by negotiation. But this deed cannot be allowed to go unpunished; the ones responsible will be brought back to Amestris. Alive, if possible. I want them to stand trial for this.

"Parliament has decided that General Kansan will be in charge of this mission." Even as his gaze remained on Hakuro, Langston saw, out of his peripheral vision, the General swelling with pompous pride. He saw Mustang shift is his chair, as if trying to stifle himself. Langston's curiosity sniffed the air like a bloodhound.

"General Mustang and Major Corsair…" -- Langston fought back pride of his own -- "… will be essential to this mission's success, as they are the only two state alchemists we have decided to send north. Major Hawkeye, Captain Havoc, and Second Lieutenant Fuery will cross the border with around sixty men. Captain Breda and Lieutenant Falman will remain behind at the border, with fewer troops, staying in Cohigis."

The Fuhrer paused, and for a split second, Langston saw every line that had etched a place on the aging man's face. "You will be moving out on the morning train tomorrow. I wish you speed and the best possible luck."

* * *

As the meeting adjourned, and they all headed their respective ways in the preparation for tomorrow, the thoughts inside Kansan's skull were tumbling over one another like an avalanche. Firstly, the Fuhrer had chosen him over that rat bastard Mustang. That alone was reason to celebrate. Ralph had never liked people who were only in the military for their own agenda. And Mustang was a perfect example of that: someone who came and went as he pleased, played with loaded dice, and never seemed to be punished thoroughly for it. Sure, the man had been demoted. But he'd gotten his high ranks back quickly enough, hadn't he? And more gold and glory to go along with it, all with just a snap of his fingers. Kansan's lip curled in obscene hatred.

His mind was also preoccupied with thoughts of Major Corsair. There was no doubt the kid had promise. He'd passed his alchemy exams at the age of nineteen, if Ralph's friend on the committee wasn't lying to him. And, though he'd been paying rapt attention to his Fuhrer in the meeting, Ralph had practically felt the waves of eagerness coming off Corsair. The kid was nothing but a puppy, someone made of soft clay. Ralph had always had a knack for being a sculptor. He knew how to turn boys into dogs.

This shapeless kid had the prospect of bringing him back to the kind of glory he'd dreamed of years ago. Langston Corsair reminded him greatly of another man he had met not long after coming to Central. But Ralph didn't like thinking about failure, especially not on that scale. And it had been horrific, to learn that the man he had groomed and shaped so diligently had not only led soldiers to their deaths against better advice, but had subsequently been driven mad by his own extensive injuries. Ralph didn't like stray dogs.

* * *

Just like that, Riza's world had been turned upside down. But it had been done so in a way that allowed her to finally see clearly again. Her duty, once again, would be to protect Roy.

Another part of her, the part that she ignored whenever possible, didn't want this. It liked the dinners with Roy, and it liked being seen entirely as a friend and not a subordinate. It knew that irreversible things were going to happen up north, and it didn't like that. Riza's heart was aching, and she had to pause to put mental energy into making it stop.

Even as they walked away from the meeting together, she could feel him pulling away from her. The way he walked next to her changed from the relaxed stroll of a friend to the soldier's gait, cold and bitter as the winter air outside. The one he used in Ishbal. The one she had witnessed outside Lior. The one that she used to admire with a passion, and the one that had reared its ugly head again. If Riza had allowed her feelings to become coherent, she would have admitted to hating the walk that turned Roy into General Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, hero. If the concept of going to war hadn't been real to her before, it certainly was now.

* * *

_I shouldn't be worrying this much_, Sheska thought, biting her lip until it went a little numb. _I don't have anything to worry about_.

This was the mantra she repeated to herself as the line at the bank slowly snaked towards the main desk. By the time she got to the teller, Sheska told herself, her words would be true. Winry would have gotten the money, and be on her way safely back to Risembool.

She felt terrible about what had happened, and not just because she had had a great time at her parents' house. Sheska's guilt stemmed from the fact that her friend was miserable. Winry had told her of Pinako's death calmly, but Sheska knew that being the last living Rockbell couldn't be an easy thing to deal with. She could read between the lines of Winry's increasingly rambling letters, and she had invited her into another family for the holidays. But instead, she'd gotten one of her closest friends stuck in Amestris's coldest city, with no way back to the house that she had grown to hate.

A more irrational source of her guilt came from the fact that she had found romance, and Winry hadn't. She didn't feel _too_ bad about that one, of course, but it still bothered her on occasion. She had declined to tell Winry, the one person she could have safely told, because it seemed so unfair. In her letters, Sheska had only said how dull Central was getting (it wasn't), and how much she despised the new non-fiction section in the library (she didn't).

"How may I help you, miss?" Sheska jumped, and the bank teller gave her a disparaging look. Had she been that distracted?

"Yes, I need to check if some wired money I sent has been picked up." She resumed biting her lip after considering biting her nails instead.

"City or town?" The black-haired woman couldn't have sounded more bored if she tried.

"Cohigis."

"Name?"

"Winry Rockbell."

The woman flipped through several sheets of manila paper. "No."

"No? Are you positive?" It took most of Sheska's willpower to keep from going behind the desk and checking the records herself.

"It's not a gray area, doll. She didn't pick the money up." Her voice was now a little higher as she twirled a pen between her fingers, clearly annoyed. "Can I help you with anything else today?"

"No, but I -- "

"Next in line!"

* * *

Fuery paced back and forth outside apartment number 37B. He checked his watch again, hoping that he just imagined time going by this fast. He groaned; he wasn't. Fuery let himself slide down against the wall, hoping that no one else on this floor decided to leave or come in. He felt a little weird as it was, having never seen the inside of her apartment before.

Ordinarily, he would have just slid a note under her door, and seen her the following day. In this case, tomorrow meant a morning train to a foreign land where summer felt like winter. Tomorrow meant no time to talk to his girlfriend.

Footfalls from the steps set him on edge until he realized they were the same shy, light ones he heard almost every day. He got up and moved towards the landing to greet her, and his smile faded.

Sheska was crying, hard. Behind her glasses, her green eyes looked larger than ever.

"What -- " He didn't get to finish, because she nearly leapt forward to meet him, and threw her arms around him with a force that he didn't know she possessed, a force that nearly knocked both of them to the worn wooden floors of her apartment building hallway.

She was sobbing into his shoulder, and he was just standing there, holding her close. He didn't know what was wrong, but knowing Sheska, he'd know soon enough. But the words she spoke were not those he would have expected, nor were they words that he had an easy solution to.

"I think something happened to Winry, Kain. I think something bad happened to her, and it's my fault." She was shaking, and he couldn't blame her. As a few tentative puzzle pieces came together in Fuery's mind, a chill went down his spine.


	3. As the Hawk Flies

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews; they really are an inspiration. In this chapter, things (literally) get moving.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing that you recognize is mine.

* * *

**Chapter Two -- As the Hawk Flies**

It was a dim pre-dawn light that greeted the soldiers as they made their way to the train station that morning. The day, when it came, would be a vibrant blue, with just a hint of wispy clouds to the south. The air was clear as the sky above, and cold enough to hurt those who chose to breathe too deeply. In short, Roy thought, it was too beautiful a day to be the prelude to battle.

There were about a hundred of them, higher-ups and enlisted men, waiting on the platform. The supplies -- firearms, shelter, and medical supplies, among other items -- were inside covered carts, which would be loaded into the luggage compartments of the train. The sound of quiet conversation broke the morning.

Off by the end of the platform, Havoc was smoking what he had promised would be his last cigarette for a while. Leaning against the wall next to him were Breda and Falman, having a conversation about something that Roy could have listened in on, if he had chosen to. He didn't care.

Fuery wasn't accounted for yet, as of now. But he still had ample time to get there.

Riza was standing right next to him, staring into space and not saying a word. The last time they had talked, really talked, had been at the restaurant on Saturday. The air that existed between them now was becoming colder than all the rest of the frozen world combined, and he wasn't sure whose fault that was. The barrier that had slowly been coming down since he came back was up again, and he couldn't say anything about it, because that would cause far too much to become unraveled. Anything he said now would only made the air between them into ice.

They had gone too far, and now that sin must be compensated for with distance. There was no point in the past few months where Roy had considered stopping the dinners, and the growing closeness that was a result of them. He realized, with a small sigh that was ignored, that there had been no point where either of them had wanted to.

Behind them was the foolish world where soldiers made themselves believe that war would never again force them to be ugly people, the world of warm light where Riza was a beautiful woman with a bell-like laugh and a smile that touched all the corners of her face.

Now, in the face of new conflict, he had no choice but to play the game that was laid out in front of them. Play the role of the emotionless thing he used to be. He fought the urge to grind his teeth together. He hated this feeling of helplessness. But the other option -- pretending that they were still in that alternate reality -- was asking for disaster, and therefore not an option at all.

"The sun's almost up, Major," he said, turning to look upon her.

A spark of something glimmered in her auburn eyes. Surprise, or sorrow, or maybe anger. Roy no longer had the luxury of knowing. "Yes it is, sir."

From the south, there came the unmistakable smoke and wail of an approaching train.

* * *

Kain Fuery had never run so hard in his entire life.

The night at Sheksa's apartment had hardly been beneficial in the ways he had been anticipating, but the phone call she made this morning had been informative. She'd woken up early, having not been able to sleep from worry, and called the hotel where Winry had been staying.

Fuery had promised to tell General Mustang Sheska's suspicions about Winry, but, privately, he didn't think it was such a great idea. The Flame Alchemist had enough on his mind as it was, what with an inexperienced alchemistand a leader with a reputation for winning at any cost. Besides, it wouldn't change the outcome of anything, knowing the identity of the fifth hostage. And they didn't know for sure if it was Winry who had been taken into Drachma. What would they want with an automail mechanic from Risembool, anyway?

But them he'd woken to the sound of Sheska's phone clattering to the floor, and then she was crying again. The hotel the blonde girl had been staying in reported a Ms. Rockbell who had last left Saturday morning, and not returned since. Her things were in the room, and she hadn't yet paid the bill, the chirpy hostess had said.

It turned out to be a good thing that Sheska had woken up so early; otherwise he would have missed the train altogether. She had barely dried her eyes when he kissed her, hugged her tight, and left, taking her creaky steps two at a time. His back was still sore from sleeping on the lumpy couch all night, and that didn't make sprinting to the train station easier.

He would just make it, he thought, desperately out of breath and hearing an approaching train as more steps disappeared under his feet. Quickly scanning the sea of blue and gold, he found the familiar faces.

* * *

The caboose was where Mustang, Kansan, and the others had gone, but Langston's friends and comrades were sitting further up front. He was torn between loyalty and curiosity, and the latter was slowly winning.

"Come on, Corsair," one of them was saying now. "Don't tell me you've gone and gotten a big head this quickly." He gave Langston a cold smile from his seat, where a few of the enlisted men were playing poker. "Oh, I'm sorry. _Major_ Corsair." A few nervous chuckles greeted this last sentence.

"I don't…" Langston liked playing cards, but he was beginning to feel distanced from the other men his age. He had told no one of his alchemy abilities when they first started general training, hoping they wouldn't think of him as arrogant. That scheme had backfired the same day word trickled down about the tall, dark-haired nineteen-year-old who got certified.

"Don't what?" This was another man, Charles Dornier, who Langston had admired for his sense of humor since the day they met, almost a year ago now. "Don't what, Langston? Don't know who you're going to suck up to first when you get back there?"

"I don't know what I did to deserve this from my friends," he replied, voice steady. "And, right now, I don't know why I ever thought you were funny." He stared right back at Charles, who lowered his eyes and proceeded to deal cards. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Langston turned towards the back door.

* * *

The seats in this car, as in the front cars, were arranged facing each other, so that groups of four people could sit and talk together. So far, only one group of four had chosen to take advantage of this: Havoc, Falman, Breda, and Fuery, of course. It would be the last morning they all spent together for a while, Roy realized, and he wouldn't begrudge them that right. Even if they were laughing a little too loudly. Even if the woman sitting across from him was silent. As Roy's chosen seat was in the middle, and four of his subordinates were in the far back, only the laughter, and not the conversation, reached his ears.

When the door to the caboose opened to reveal Langston Corsair, Roy was only surprised that it had taken the kid that long to come back here. Of the officers present yesterday at Hakuro's debriefing, he was the only one not currently seated in the car.

He had vaguely heard of the kid before now. He was fairly young to have passed the exam, though by no means the youngest, -- Roy allowed a tiny smirk to escape him just then -- and, from what rumors he'd heard around Central, had the specialty of being able to manipulate water.

Corsair looked pretty ordinary, but that didn't mean anything. He was tall, and lanky, and stood up straight even as the train buckled and swayed. Dark brown hair that was uncut, and thin, wire-rimmed glasses. _Well, at least he doesn't look insane._

He glanced to his left, across the aisle, wondering what Riza's opinion of the newcomer was. She wasn't even looking up. She was sitting by the window, reading a plain, blue-bound book by the morning light. As he looked, one of her hands moved to turn the page, and her face turned a fraction of the way towards him, short blonde bangs shifting. She knew he was looking, Roy was sure, and the fact that she wouldn't meet his gaze thickened the stagnant air between them.

Stone-faced, he looked up the aisle again in time to see Kansan crook a thick finger towards Major Corsair from his seat near the front of the car. With a look of interest, the young alchemist went to sit across from Kansan. Roy found himself silently cursing both the Generals in the caboose. Kansan, for living up to the low expectation Roy had of him. He cursed himself for not having a more strategic seat. It was unthinkable that he could switch now.

* * *

He had waited for his prey like a hunter in the woods, and the wait has not been very lengthy. Soon enough, the deer had stumbled in, a wild young buck. Kansan had timed his summons perfectly, in his opinion. Slow enough that he would not appear eager, only helpful, and fast enough that Mustang couldn't get his own claws in the boy. If that happened, all was lost. The reckless laughter coming from the back of the car was proof enough. No, this one wouldn't turn into one of them, not if Ralph had anything to do with it.

"General Kansan." The boy inclined his head in lieu of giving a salute. He was smiling, Ralph saw, in an innocent way that would have to be corrected. All in good time.

"Major Corsair," he replied, brandishing a smile of his own. "I've heard nothing but good things about you."

"Well, thanks, sir. I'm sorry, but I haven't heard much about you." His leg was jumping, something else that would have to end soon.

"That's all right, we'll get to me later." He waved a hand, as if brushing a fly away. "What about you, Major?"

"Well… I don't know. I'm an alchemist, but you already know that, sir. I'm nineteen years old, and I'll be twenty this September. I lived in a place called Mera, in the west, before I came to Central last year. I've always liked the rain, and water in general, but I didn't know until I took the exam that I could transmute that better than anything else." A note of pride crept into his voice during the last sentence.

"You can transmute the rain?"

Corsair laughed, softly. "No, I don't think anyone could concentrate enough to do that, sir. It's hard enough to do alchemy on something that's standing still."

"But, water?" Kansan prompted him, trying to ignore the fact that this _child_ had just laughed at him.

"Yes, General. I can manipulate it, and, if I'm not tired, I can turn water into ice. Turning ice into water, now, I haven't figured out how to do that yet. Takes more energy, I think. And -- "

A particularly loud burst of laughter had come from Mustang's flunkies. _Never were good at putting people on leashes, were you, Colonel?_ His lip curled against his will.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to have a laugh before, well, before there's nothing else to laugh about." Corsair was smiling, again, and standing up. Kansan dismissed him with a flick of his wrist, but supposed that the boy didn't catch the hostility in the gesture. He was already leaving. Ralph was irritated at the boy's casual air, but didn't seethe inside until he heard Corsair greet Mustang, until he heard the footsteps pause long before they reached the very back.

* * *

"I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Major Langston Corsair."

Roy looked up from the papers he had been pretending to peruse. "Hello, Major." He noted that the kid looked ordinary, even up close. His face was unlined, and youthful without being chubby. The gray eyes behind his glasses might have been dull, if not for the lively spark.

Corsair sat down opposite him without invitation, glancing more than strictly necessary at the black fabric covering part of Roy's face. There was uncomfortable silence for a moment, in which Riza flipped another page in her book and the train continued its steady path northward.

"Why did you join the military?" Roy posed the question like most people ask about the weather.

"What?" Langston blinked, twice. "Oh, sorry, sir. I don't know why that seems like an odd question." He chewed his lip, thinking. "I guess it started with my dad. He was in one of the minor conflicts before Ishbal, and he used to tell me stories. They would always be the same ones, though, because he hurt his back and got discharged after just a few months. I guess I want my own stories."

"Glory," Roy said shrewdly.

Langston nodded. "It sounds selfish when you say it like that, sir. But I want glory from helping people."

"What if you have to kill to attain this glory?" Roy knew Riza was probably listening to this, and he found it didn't matter to him.

"I've thought about that, too. I figure if I can save an innocent life by taking a guilty one, that's equivalency. I know I won't like it, but if I liked it, I wouldn't be a very good person."

"And what if you have to kill innocents?"

"I won't do it."

"What if you're ordered to?"

"I'll find a way around it."

"There won't be a way." Roy found an old wound, opened up and bleeding before him. "There's a doctor, and there's a war. He's treating people from both sides, and the enemies that he's helping are coming back to kill your men. You're ordered to kill the doctor."

"I'd find a way not to."

Roy gave the young alchemist a glare that he returned, eyes to eye. It wasn't angry, or rebellious; it was the just the naïveté of someone who had never known real war. Shadows of fire and chaos danced into Roy's vision. "One piece of advice for you, Major."

"Yes, sir?" There was a determined edge to him now.

He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice so only Langston could hear. The Major leaned in closer. "Be wary of who you put your trust in."

Corsair nodded, but then added in an undertone, "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

Roy dropped his voice even further. "Have you ever heard of a man by the name of Frank Archer?"

* * *

She woke up coughing, and peered around the lightening room. The sun was up, then. Her hands were still tied, and if she wasn't already losing track of time, it was Tuesday.

On Saturday, when their train was moving, Winry had thought she was as cold as she would ever live to be in her life. She was wrong.

The ride north into Drachma had been uneventful. The woman, who Winry now knew was called Elizabeth, divided her time between comforting her son and trying to console Winry, who was wracked with guilt. If only Elizabeth hadn't tried to help her in the bank, she might not be in this predicament.

At gunpoint, their hands had been bound behind their backs with thin, strong rope that cut into Winry's frozen skin if she tried to loosen them. Her face was cold, and her feet were numb, and her entire torso ached from sitting down on the unforgiving floor of the freight car for what seemed like an eternity of hours. There was not enough light brought in through cracks for her to see what time of day it was. Her only hope was that they reached their destination before night fell.

The two men from the bank sat on the opposite side of the train car, silent. They didn't even look like they knew each other, Winry realized. The unsavory character had hair the color of dirty straw and a ruddy complexion. He wasn't obese, but carried extra weight around his middle. The other one, who appeared to be in his late twenties, was short and thin as a twig, with hair lighter than Winry's. She had no idea why either of the pair was here.

At the front of the boxcar was their watchman, whose black hood and clothing conspired with the dim light to hide anything about him. He sat on an old oil drum, with a rifle laid across his lap. He might have been asleep, the way his body swayed with every bump of the train. He was slouching so much that Winry couldn't catch a glimpse of his eyes, even from her low vantage point.

She must have dozed off herself, watching him, for in her next conscious moment he was yelling at them all, and the huge metal door of the car was open. The air that came in was sheer agony, and that alone would have awakened her. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn't snowing. The ground outside was just the dull white of a permanent layer of winter.

One by one, they were made to jump off the train. Winry was the last one before their guard, and the wind tore water from her eyes as she neared the door, blinding her. Her legs were untied for a reason, she now saw. She jumped, panicked in midair, and felt twin lightning jolts of pain shoot up her legs a moment later. Her knees buckled as she fell into snow packed hard with time and ice, and Winry knew her shoulder was going to bruise. She was still half-blind. Behind her, the roar of the train was deafening. She couldn't run away if she wanted to. A dozen yards ahead, she made out the silhouette of their guard striding back towards her. With some difficulty, but feeling that more pain was better than the disgrace of this criminal helping her, she got to her feet.

* * *

Alone in a seat close to the back, Langston watched Amestris disappear in front of his eyes. The countryside, still green even at this time of year, had given way to grayish brown forests without leaves. He had seen a wolf, once, running alongside the train.

They crossed a river that was half ice, and passed through a town where some of the rooftops still carried a sheet of leftover white.

The next forest had snow still on the branches, and the next expanse of fields had frost on the blades of grass. The houses, few and far between, all had smoke coming from the chimneys.

Langston thought Cohigis would seem like a winter town, even during the summer months. Everything there was grey or black or brown or white, from what he saw as the train stopped. Breda and Falman departed without much fanfare, their serious faces carrying no trace of laughter.

Soon after the train's engines started again, they were going up into the mountains that Langston had only seen in maps and pictures before today. They were larger than he could have imagined, though, and had a barren mood to them that reflected and perhaps intensified the atmosphere inside the train car. They were only a bit more colorful than Cohigis, with patches of evergreen amidst the lower parts. As the tracks continued to cut through, the color of life faded into gray rock and light gray ice.

In some ways, it was unappealing, and spoke of only hopes dashed against stone. But in another way, one that Langston was still struggling to appreciate, it was beautiful. He let his breath fog the glass in strange patterns, and thought of his family.


	4. Over the Hills

**A/N: **I'm glad people seem to like this story. I'll try to keep updating it regularly.

**Disclaimer: **-points to FMA- Not mine.

* * *

**Chapter Three -- Over the Hills**

The sun's dying rays had vanished when the military train came to a stop. The hiss of steam, made more dramatic by the temperature, soon vanished into the moonlight, and they disembarked. Some of the men took supplies out of the luggage compartments while Kansan and Mustang led the rest of the troops across the tracks, down the long, concrete slab of a platform, and up a half-flight of stairs into the station.

They marched in order, or some semblance of it, and the sound of boots echoed in the small main room. Behind the glass to their right, the ticket man regarded them with a suspicious eye. The building was brick outside and brick inside, giving it a rough feeling. In front of them was a row of small stores that had not been open for business in months.

As the train pulled off again, headed into the wild cold of Drachma, Kansan lengthened his stride to match Roy's.

"Something on your mind?" Roy muttered.

"This place is not to my liking." Kansan gave the station a critical eye, letting himself linger in the shadowed corners and looking up into the vaulted ceiling, as if expecting rebel forces to come parachuting down on them all.

"They won't be here, and you know that. What kind of kidnappers would bring people to the largest town in a hundred miles, knowing that we'd probably start here?"

"Then perhaps we shouldn't have come to Calavis, Mustang."

Roy shrugged the words off, refusing to let the other man under his skin. "We can afford to be predicable. They can't. This is the best place to get information on who might have done this, and the best opportunity to contact them. But you knew that too, right, General?" He said all this while looking straight ahead, knowing that his smirk was not as easily visible from the side.

"Of course. I was merely checking to ensure that your accident hadn't affected your brain, Mustang." He gave a sharp glance towards Roy's eyepatch. "What a shame that would be."

Walking a few paces behind, Riza found that, at the moment, nothing would please her more than emptying both of her handguns between Ralph Kansan's shoulder blades.

* * *

While both Mustang and Kansan walked up front, Langston hung near the back, just in front of Havoc and Fuery, who seemed to be having a heated debate. He let his strides lag a little more, and he caught the last few words of something that roused his curiosity.

"… don't think Mustang would appreciate that, at this point," Havoc was saying.

"But what if something happened to her, and he didn't -- "

"Don't you think he's doing everything he can anyway?" Havoc talked over the younger man's protests. "Don't you think he has enough on his plate as it is?"

"But -- "

"It wouldn't change anything, right?" His voice was low, intent on driving this point home.

A sigh, and a pause. "No."

"Alright then, Fuery."

They were almost to the station steps now. It was now, or much later. Langston chose now. He fell back further, to Havoc's left. Both men gave him a questioning glance.

"Do either of you know," he began in an undertone, "who Frank Archer is?"

Fuery nearly tripped, and Havoc snapped, "Who told you about Archer?"

"General Mustang."

Jean Havoc shook his head. "Then I guess we can tell you, right?" He looked to Fuery, who nodded his assent. "Frank Archer was in the military when… there was an offensive move on a city called Lior. He led hundreds of men in, and they all died. Archer himself got some pretty nasty injuries, and what they put him through afterwards, to fix his body, took whatever small amount of sanity he was born with. He… died soon afterwards."

Fuery gave a nervous cough. After that, they were in the station, and silence fell over the soldiers. Langston was more intrigued than ever.

* * *

It was Tuesday night, and one of Winry's legs still hurt when she moved it the wrong way. She couldn't sleep, no matter what she tried. Counting backwards had never worked for her, not even as a small child back in Risembool. Closing her eyes just made her other senses more acute; she could hear Elizabeth's soft snores and smell the slight musty odor of the house, as if, before they had come, it had been abandoned for many years.

She turned towards the hooded man, presumably the same one who had been guarding them on the train. The others had been on the next car up, she had learned later. Insurance in case something went awry. Winry shuddered, and he turned to look at her. Boldness born from lost hope struck her.

"Why are you doing this?" She whispered, for even though she was the one sitting closest by him, Elizabeth and Leonard might be light sleepers. She didn't care about the unsavory character or his strange friend.

He lifted his face, and she saw thin lips, a straight nose. Not his eyes, not yet.

"Why am I here?"

"You were in the wrong place at the wrong time." His voice was flat, and deep. No joy existed there, and Winry couldn't imagine that there ever had been.

"It could have been anyone?"

"Yes…" He looked at her, and then the Ferns. "… and no." He inclined his head towards the two men asleep, sitting by a window.

"What do you want from us?" It was a question she had asked, with increasing volume and shrill tone, over the past days, each time without a response. She kept her voice lowered now.

"Only what was ours." He took the hood off, letting a mane of fiery red hair fall to his shoulders. His eyes appeared light in the darkness. He resembled some fierce chimera-like creature, she decided. He stared back at her, now, with no sign of shame.

Winry decided it was a mark of how tired she was that she actually believed him. The truth was still eluding her, she was sure, but sleep no longer did. By the time the man put his hood back on and leaned back into the hard oak frame of the chair to watch them, she was asleep.

* * *

It was a full hour after the blonde girl closed her eyes when someone came in to relieve Alexander of his guard duties. He got up with a grunt, passed his replacement a small bottle of liquor, and went out into the hall, pacing up and down until all the feeling came back into his limbs.

The hallway he stepped into was narrow and long, with several doorways leading into room in front of him. Wallpaper showing lacy blue patterns was peeling from the walls, revealing various shades of white and yellow drywall. Bare lightbulbs lit the way, and the equally naked, unpolished floor creaked with every careless step he took; whichever way one looked, the house spoke of disrepair.

At the end of the hall, past the stairs and the closet and the bathroom, a light was on in the largest bedroom, which the previous occupant had been using as an office. That was the reason they had chosen this place, he recalled now. For all its unattractiveness, it had a telephone, and locks on all the rooms. Very few modifications needed to be made to turn a bed and breakfast into a hostage situation.

He entered the room, and the four men slouching on various pieces of furniture immediately stood up, or tried to. The youngest, his own nephew, toppled the chair he'd been leaning back in. Alexander spared him only a moment's withering glance. Despite their casual manner, he knew that these men were among the most devoted and loyal of his forty or so followers.

He went to sit on one of the chaises, taking pleasure in that fact that this chair had a cushion. He sighed deeply, and allowed the events of the past few days to wash over him like a tidal wave.

He, Alexander Gorsky, had done it. The first part of it, at least. They'd come into Amestris through illegal means, and laid low in Cohigis until Kurt Fielding had gone to the bank. The crooked politician had just been a welcome bonus, and the civilians? They were bargaining chips if something happened to go wrong. His conscience grumbled at the kidnapping of women and children, but he let it be. If all went right, no blood would be shed, and what was rightfully theirs would be returned. The _if_ was what made his heart skip beats on occasion.

_If_ this didn't go exactly as planned, his father and sister would never speak to him again. They had shunned him during the past month, but it was nothing that a job well done wouldn't heal. The blood that ran between them would only be cut off _if _he caused the slaughter of innocents, and failed to bring them what they were too afraid to obtain by themselves.

The ringing of a telephone brought him out of his reverie.

"Hello?" Roman, his childhood best friend and current cohort, answered it. "The code, if you would." His eyes were on Alexander, who felt his heart race as Roman nodded. It was their contact. "Alright, then… Oh?"

All the men in the office sat up at the change in the stoic Drachman's voice.

Roman allowed the barest of smiles to touch his face. "Well, then, that is good news. Thank you."

The phone had just touched the receiver when Alexander whispered, "Well?"

"They've arrived at Calavis. And your sister's had a sudden change of heart."

He nodded, adrenaline that he hadn't known since the bank pumping through his veins. They were in Calavis, _and his sister had changed her mind_. Alexander mentally congratulated himself for anticipating the military. Paying off every ticket-man on the night shift hadn't been a waste of money at all.

* * *

Of all the things Roy expected to see upon exiting the station, a tall, solidly build woman whose red hair was silhouetted against the streetlights was not one of them. But there she stood -- no she was walking towards them now -- as real as the stone and wood buildings around them.

Behind him, he could hear several feet scuffling against the pavement, and the click of a pistol's safety, followed by several others. Riza, no doubt. He pushed a couple different emotions down without bothering to identify them.

The red-haired woman stopped a dozen or so paces from them. She spoke, just as Kansan opened his mouth. "My name is Anya Gorsky, and I know why you're here."

"You do?" Kansan said, working an incredible amount of contempt into two syllables.

"Yes, I think I just said that." Under the glare of a streetlamp, the woman's sneer was almost inhuman. "I know you're here for the hostages, and I know how you can get them."

"What are their names?" This was Roy, taking a single step forward.

Without batting an eyelash, Anya replied, "Elliot Wicker, Kurt Fieldling, Elizabeth Ferns, Leonard Ferns…" -- somewhere in the ranks, Kain Fuery winced -- "… and Winry Rockbell."

"Why don't we just take you, right now, for leverage?" This was Kansan, as Roy found himself unable to speak, and also trying not to be sick. As if he could be more involved in this than he already was…

"Because I'll sacrifice myself long before you let anyone die." Anya held her prominent chin high, giving Roy the impression that she either had a first-class poker face, or she was not bluffing. He'd bet money on the second option.

"What do you want, Ms. Gorsky?" Roy had recovered some shreds of composure by now.

"It's not what I want, but I suppose that's besides the point. What the kidnappers want? They want this land back." She gestured widely, letting one long arm swing across the city and back where there were no buildings at all.

"Who owns the land?" Kansan's voice really was starting to bother Roy. It was the grating tone of a warden talking to prisoners, except when he wanted something.

"Kurt Fieldling." Anya's eyes flashed with rage. "He bought it all, and Wicker's father wrapped it up in so much red tape that we can never get it back. They legally swindled us, and then Fieldling mined for silver on the land that used to be ours."

"So you kidnap civilians?" Roy ground the words out.

"That's not the end of it! This city, this place… we used to be spread out between here and the big city of Porra, in the valley, but twenty years ago, there was an epidemic there. All but a few of the survivors came here. There was grief and pain like nothing else in this world. We tried to prosper, even though the profits from the valley's businesses were gone. We were desperate. And then Fieldling buys _everything_ for _nothing_ -- we had no choice but to sell to him -- and we send our men to work for him for practically _nothing_." Tears stained her face as she looked up at them, and Roy remembered that nothing was ever as uncomplicated as it seemed. "And then we struck oil.

"All the money he had, and he still wanted more, the greedy bastard. We tried to drill for it ourselves, but he had drained from under our land, the little bits and pieces of it that were still in our hands. We who have lived here for generations have nothing, and a man who lives in a mansion in another country entirely gets everything. Does that sound right to you?"

"It sounds like kidnapping," said Kansan coldly.

"What are their plans, Ms. Gorsky?" Roy saw his breath clearly as he spoke.

"They don't want money, if that's what you're guessing. They will make Fieldling give us the deeds back."

"I don't think this is the kind of man who would part with his money easily," Roy said. "Or at all."

"And I don't think you know the lengths these people will go to," she countered. "Do you think we're that simple?"

* * *

They slept in the train station that night, though many did not rest at all. By the light of candles, Mustang, Hawkeye, Corsair, and Kansan discussed the situation well past midnight. On one hand, the situation was very straightforward. On the other hand, Langston thought, it was very complicated.

The hostages were not in Calavis; both Generals and Hawkeye had agreed on that. There were too many people; it would have been far too difficult to bring five foreigners in without drawing attention. If they were to believe Anya, few people outside of the rebel group itself knew about the kidnapping.

Roy took a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, and spread it before the four of them. It clearly showed that Calavis was on a very large hill, and that in a valley to the north the doomed city of Porra rested in peace. Langston's intuition tingled, but Riza spoke before he could. If an abandoned city wasn't a good place to conceal five hostages, what was?

Simple enough, until Langston saw reason. Going in there now might get the one or more of the Amestrians killed, but waiting and seeing if the demands of the rebels could be met by Fieldling seemed riskier. Both sides of the conflict were desperate for a solution to different problems.

Some time before dawn, a sufficient plan had been laid out, and the finer points of it were drilled into Corsair's memory by sheer repetition.

Langston looked on while the shadows playing across Mustang's face grew deeper. Was there something else bothering the General, besides the turn of events? His eyes flickered to Major Hawkeye, who watched her superior officer closely even when she was talking. There were shadows on her face too, and they seemed to mirror his.

Between Frank Archer, Havoc and Fuery's conversation, and the strangeness he was witnessing now, Langston thought he had had his fill of secrecy for a lifetime.

* * *

Artyom the ticket-man had dozed off watching the four higher-ups discussing strategy, figuring that if he couldn't hear what they were saying, there was no point in losing his valuable rest. It was now five in the morning; he had checked the watch given to him by Alexander Gorsky. The blue-and-gold clad soldiers were all listening to two men, one with black hair, one with close-cut brown. They were going to move west, then? Check out all the small towns there? Excellent.

He remembered at the last moment to appear drowsy as they marched out. The tall, thin young man walking near the front might have given him a furtive glance, but Arty was tired, and given to seeing things in his old age. He grinned upon hearing the door close, and fumbled with arthritic fingers for the phone. Alexander would be safe for now, in Porra, and giving him the information now might get Arty a nice necklace for the wife.


	5. Haunted Flares

**A/N: **Thanks for all the reviews so far! They make this author very happy. Also, there will be mentions of war violence for the next few chapters.

**Disclaimer: **-points to FMA- _Still _not mine. Damn.

* * *

**Chapter Four -- Haunted Flares**

They adhered to the plan -- the real one, not the decoy announced in the station -- as soon as the last man was out of the shadow of Calavis and the surrounding hills. The train station's platform had been on flat ground, but the surrounding land resembled nothing more than a collection of giant pebbles pressed into each other. As they descended away from the city, the going became treacherous, with no paved roads and rocky ground covered by thick layers of snow and ice. At one point, the path narrowed until only three men could walk comfortably side by side, and the natural walls rose high on both sides, capped by frozen water that not even the change of seasons could erase. Riza watched in vague amusement as Major Corsair reached out a gloved hand to brush the ice.

_He's just a kid, isn't he?_

Under different circumstances, she and Roy would have already discussed at length the young alchemist and everything else that had occurred. Her auburn eyes, clear even in their desolation, rested upon Roy's back as he walked wordlessly next to Kansan. It was a mark of how far he'd slipped away from her that they hadn't talked about Winry. He'd been colder than ever the previous night, and she could only guess what he was feeling. Anger, at the kidnappers and Kansan. Determination to make things right. Something towards her, she hoped. Guilt, because that was how Roy dealt with everything. She let out one shaky breath, and unclenched a fist she hadn't been aware of making.

At least he was still thinking clearly, regardless of what his mental state might be. It had been Roy who first wondered about the connections of the lonely ticket-man, and how Anya Gorsky knew the exact time they would be arriving.

Out on the hilly white-flecked plains of Drachma, they split up. To keep their cover, Fuery would take ten men into a nearby town to the west, asking if anyone had information. The remaining troops would be split in three: one division led by Kansan, one led by Roy and Langston, one led by Riza and Jean. They would approach Porra from the east, the north, and the west, respectively, since there was no guarantee that the terrain would allow access. They couldn't afford to stick together. It was Kansan who decided on this portion of the plan, and Roy has reluctantly agreed. Ralph Kansan was an unpleasant bastard on his good days, but he knew strategy.

As icy rock crunched beneath Riza's boots, she wondered if things would ever get back to normal.

_Well_, she reasoned, with a cynical twitch of her lips,_ as normal as we ever were._

* * *

"Excuse me." A rude voice, and one Sheska was accustomed to hearing. Had she taken her eyes from the book on 18th century warfare strategies, she would have seen a tall, severe-faced woman striding down the aisle towards her.

Sheska hadn't been in her old favorite place since Kain Fuery asked her to dinner two months ago. It was the last aisle before the private conference rooms, and no one came back here. The books on the shelves were outdated reference books, some going back to before Sheska was born. It was where she used to come to read in private after -- and sometimes in the middle of -- work. The light back here was both natural and artificial, and the single wooden stool was perfect for a lonely bookworm with hours of free time.

"Why aren't you sorting the new non-fiction?"

The firm footsteps paused before her, and Sheska looked up to see the angry, pale visage of Mrs. Macchi, the deputy librarian and her direct superior. To be fair, the frequency of this situation in the past probably justified her anger.

"Well? What excuse do you have this time?" She folded her arms.

"Let's see… I couldn't find my gloves this morning, so my hands were frozen stiff for about an hour. When I got here, there was a little boy crying and looking for his mother. Turns out she had wandered to the third floor without telling him. I was late, looking for my gloves, so I didn't have time to get coffee, so I'm tired as all hell. I can't sleep. I tripped and nearly killed myself trying to get here on time. Oh, and my boyfriend and my best friend are in mortal danger, and I'm not sure how much I should be blaming myself. I have no idea if either of them are even alive. Is that a good enough excuse for you?" Her voice was shrill and not very library-friendly by the time she finished.

"Take the rest of the day off, Sheska."

She managed to keep the tears from spilling onto the book until Mrs. Macchi was well on her way back towards the front desk.

* * *

The glare was reflecting off the snow by the time one group reached the eastern edge of Porra. Someone with more imagination might have been able to see what the compact industrial city had once been, with its grand buildings still intact and its wide streets to accommodate a blossoming population. The metal of the roofs was dull, but some would have imagined shine. Ralph Kansan was not that someone; he only saw a potential battleground.

From the ridge where they stood, almost the entire valley metropolis could be seen. To his left and to his right, some of the younger soldiers were gazing down in awe. Ralph's temper flared. Surely this was not the time to act like tourists.

With a careful eye, he could make out several chimneys that were still smoking. Most were near the edges of Porra, small houses probably being used by vagrants. A good distance away from them and closer to the center, however, there was a large building of some sort, surrounded by smaller houses. The chimney was in use, and Kansan's sixth sense tingled. Was this his chance?

He'd assigned Langston Corsair to go along with Mustang after realizing that he'd need a more subtle approach to reel the boy in. Corsair might be obvious in his actions and his words, but he wasn't entirely dense. Ralph had decided to turn the boy towards him by turning Langston against Roy Mustang. And there was no better way to begin doing that than to force the other General to do a little unwelcome babysitting. He allowed himself a little satisfaction before turning to the soldiers.

"There's been a slight change of plans," he drawled. "The two of you are to find out as much information as you can about that building. You will be silent and invisible, and you will report back to me within the hour. Is that clear?"

Two of the men, one of whom looked scarcely older than Langston, exchanged glances before saluting him.

"Good." He watched them off as they descended the steep slope into Porra. "We wait here," he said to the remaining ten or so men. Ralph refrained from adding, "No matter what."

* * *

For the first time since they had arrived in the old house, Winry's breath fogged the air when she woke up. The windows were closed and there were no drafts she could feel… so the room simply shouldn't be this cold. She looked to the fireplace; it had been extinguished. That would explain it, but it didn't explain why. Weren't hostages generally kept alive, in exchange for whatever was desired? Surely they would freeze to death after a day or so of this.

The door opened, and the man sitting in the wooden chair turned to greet the red-haired man who had spoken to Winry last night. Beside Winry, Elizabeth pulled her shivering son close. The unsavory character and his friend watched the Drachmans warily.

"My name is Alexander Gorsky," began the red-haired man, "but I'm no one special. Some of you are probably wondering why you're here… some of you can already guess. I'll tell you, just so there is no confusion later. There is, on high land to the south of us, a city by the name of Calavis."

The unsavory character gave a start, and glared at Gorsky. "You worthless bastard," he spat.

"Most of the land of that city and much of the surrounding area is owned by an Amestrian. This man took advantage of our misfortunes, took what had belonged to our community for generations, and took all the morale of our people. He mined for silver and drilled for oil on the land that was ours for hundreds of years, and took the profits, needlessly, for himself. He gave us nothing more than what he was legally bound to in wages. He destroyed what was left of us. His name is Kurt Fieldling, and he's sitting right in front of me."

"You are a worthless piece of shit spawned from shit, Gorsky." Fieldling struggled with the ropes binding him, and Winry watched him in revulsion. Unsavory in a variety of ways, it seemed…

Alexander smiled in a feral way, showing even teeth. "Bind his legs, Roman." The other man moved forward, and Fieldling nearly kicked him.

"Stay away from me, you bastards."

"None of that, now." Gorsky pulled a handgun and aimed it squarely at Fieldling's broad chest.

"Can't kill me, can you?" The other man taunted. "You would've done that already."

Alexander looked over to Winry, and in the moment before he pointed the gun at her, she almost saw an apology in his light eyes. She shuddered, unable to look away. "I will kill her unless you let my friend tie your legs."

"Kill the little tart. I don't care," Fieldling sneered.

Pure hatred towards Kurt Fieldling curled into Winry's mind between fear for her life and the sense of injustice here. She looked straight at Gorsky, determined that she wouldn't make this easy for him.

Alexander clicked the safety off and pulled the trigger. Kurt Fieldling screamed as the bullet tore through the flesh of his right foot.

"Bind his legs, Roman."

* * *

Getting into the ghost town of Porra from the west was not easy going; Havoc had already fallen twice. There were small pieces of ice inside his boots, rubbing against his legs. He inwardly cursed himself for not bringing matches. This was clearly a bad time to try and quit smoking.

Both he and Riza were panting by the time they reached a good vantage point. Behind them, the enlisted men were doing the same, trying to catch their breath. From here, the whole city was laid out like a three dimensional map. He busied himself trying to memorize main streets and side streets, large buildings and open spaces, anything that could possibly help them if they had to engage in combat within the valley.

"Are you all right?" He asked, not realizing until too late how many ways that could be interpreted.

"I'm fine, Havoc," she replied, with no indication that his question might have had a deeper meaning. He let out a sigh.

"I hope Winry is alright." He sat down on a large slab of rock. "Sheska's got to be worried sick about this by now."

"I hope everyone is alright… what did you say?" She turned to him sharply.

"About Winry?" He tried to relax. Maybe she was too distracted.

"No. About Sheska. How does Sheska know that Winry's out here?"

_Shit_. "I don't know; she must have guessed or something --"

"Sheska knew… she told you. She must have told you before we even left Central… before we even got on the train. You knew about this for at least a full day, and you didn't see the need to tell _anyone_?" Riza hadn't raised her voice above normal, but she was practically trembling with anger.

"Sheska didn't tell me," he spluttered. "She told Fuery, and Fuery told me right before everyone else found out."

"Fuery? Why would she…" Havoc saw a flash of understanding in her eyes. "Oh."

He nodded. "She didn't want him to tell anyone, because it was just a feeling she had. She didn't know for sure. Fuery wanted to tell Mustang, but I convinced him not to. I told him it wouldn't make any difference, because we're already doing everything we can." He lowered his voice. "I don't think any of us needed to have personal stakes in this."

She turned away from him suddenly, and continued her own observation of Porra. Their icy silence was soon broken.

"Havoc." She sounded surprised, and he got to his feet to walk over to her.

"Yes?"

"Do you see the building with the smoking chimney?"

"Yes."

She narrowed her eyes. "I see people walking towards it."

He squinted, and made out two tiny blobs crossing the street, getting closer to what might be their destination. But something was odd…

"Tell me if I'm wrong, but those look like our men, Havoc."

Though her eyesight was better than his, Havoc _did_ see that the two figures were clad in blue. "Why? We were supposed to stay back until all of us were in position." He got one of the enlisted men to pass him a pair of binoculars. "That's us, for sure." He looked through the lenses to the north rim of the valley. "And Mustang and Corsair aren't there yet."

"What the hell is going on?" Riza whispered, looking at him intently.

"I don't know… Mustang wouldn't do this. I --"

"But Ralph Kansan would," she said grimly.

"No…" _Yes_, Havoc's mind argued.

"This is the man who trained Frank Archer," she said, in a tone of forced calm. "And we know what _he_ was capable of."

In the center of Porra, the house with the smoking chimney exploded.

* * *

The north side of the valley was the lowest slope besides the south, and that _should_ have made for easy going. It didn't.

While the east and the west sides were almost straight lines going towards the sky, the north side was distinguished by having dozens of small hills, undulations of the earth made treacherous by the climate.

The day seemed to stretch on forever as Roy, Langston, and the enlisted men passed through groves of evergreen trees, patches of loose rock, frozen streams, and just about everything else that nature could conspire to bring against them.

By the time they came to a wide river, frozen over except in the very middle, Langston had never been more exhausted in his life. Every breath of the thinning air hurt his chest. He had fallen, in some way, a humiliating seven times, and Mustang wouldn't let them rest for a minute. Langston might have complained, if only he could spare the oxygen necessary to do so.

They came to a halt, finally, at the river's bank. It wound, curving through the uneven land, for as far as the eye could see in either direction. The other groups might be in position already, depending on how hard their ground was to cover. It was essential that Mustang's group made it to the northern lip of the valley; all of the troops would converge there if something unforeseen should happen.

"How are we going to get through here, sir?" He asked.

"I was just going to tell you that, Major," Roy remarked dryly. "I can melt the ice in this part of the river, and we can wade through." He pulled off one of the thick wool gloves they all wore to reveal a white glove with a red transmutation circle on the back. "I hope you don't mind getting your feet wet."

"I don't mind," replied Langston, with a crooked smile. "But I do have a better idea."

Roy raised the thin eyebrow not covered by his eyepatch.

Langston knelt down by the bank and pulled a small knife from his pocket. Leaning over the ice, he carved a basic circle into it, then started drawing other patterns inside. Circles upon smaller circles, triangles upon straight lines, all connected in some way. He could feel eyes upon his back as he took off his own gloves and pressed his bare hands to the ice.

Blue-white light highlighted the circle, swirled up from within it, then shot off towards the opposite bank, a good thirty feet away. The line thickened, then created a twin a couple feet downstream. The two lines arched, and raised themselves, and became short walls that were suspended off from the middle of the river. Langston beamed as the light receded, leaving a simple arching bridge over the frozen river.

It was made entirely of ice, from the railings to the exterior, which had the indented appearance of brick. The path itself was rough, for traction, and the corners were adorned with small globes. They were made of ice, of course, so they had no purpose.

"Let's go," was what the General said. They all proceeded across in silence, some of which Langston hoped was awe. He didn't like to think of himself as being arrogant, but he was damn proud of this. It didn't crack at all under their collective weight. The kid inside him wanted to jump and whoop, but he tucked the happiness away for a more appropriate time.

After the river, it was only a short distance to the rim of the valley. The city below was a bit blurry to Langston, even with his glasses. He walked down a little, studying the abandoned metropolis.

It was beautiful, really. Whoever had designed the place had done so with a clear vision in mind, because the product showed it. Straight, wide roads. Taller buildings close to the center, if his eyes weren't deceiving him. He could easily imagine people walking those streets, laughing and talking… but most of them were dead, weren't they? A wave of sympathy washed over him.

"That was good work, Major," said a cool voice behind him.

"Thank you, sir." He turned around to see Mustang watching him closely.

"Even if you did show off."

Langston grinned, then winced slightly. "Yeah, I know."

"Don't think that --"

Both their heads snapped back to Porra as one of the larger buildings exploded, sending a cloud of flames and then smoke into the air.

* * *

"And now, you." Alexander pointed the gun at the other male hostage as Kurt Fieldling's profanity-laded screams echoed from the hallway. "Elliot Wicker."

"You don't need me," said the small man, who appeared even smaller when he was cringing against the wall. "You have Kurt."

"Allow me to introduce Mr. Wicker, politician and business partner of Mr. Fieldling." Gorksy turned towards Winry, Elizabeth, and little Leonard. "He is the one who seems to make all the technicalities of buying land just disappear, when the mood strikes him." Contempt, darkened by rage, dripped from his voice.

"Why am I here? You don't need me." He was whining, now, and Winry thought he resembled nothing so much as a rodent.

"You are here in case your associate and my associates cannot come to an agreement," stated Alexander.

Wicker paled. "And why are they here?" He inclined his head towards the other hostages. Elizabeth was covering her son's face.

"They are here as leverage in the case of the worst possible scenario."

"Which is what?" This was definitely a man used to talking.

From somewhere not too far away, there was the sound of an explosion. Up on the mantelpiece, above the fire that had been put out sometime before dawn this morning, an old picture frame rattled and shook. It contained a black and white photo of two small children, presumably brother and sister. Winry watched as it skated close to the edge, overbalanced, and fell to the floor below with the crash and tinkle of broken glass.


End file.
